I’m feeling muffled by my own self image of myself lol I mean, I’ve always been really sure and clear about my pro choice stance, it has been a certainty to me. I’ve never had a hint of doubt about the right of women to control their bodies, our bodies…
Thing is I’ve been living this “ideal” way too closely lately. And I’m facing serious doubts about the repercussions “having a choice” is having within my society.
I myself wouldn’t do it to be perfectly honest, but I always thought it was women right to chose, and that I still think it. I still think it’s every women right to decide if she wants to be a mother or not and when she’d want to be a mom. So far I’m still good with it.
But you see, this year only within my closest personal circle (in laws, close friends) I’ve witnessed and accompanied 4 women to get abortions, 4 adults, professional, capable women to the abortion clinic to “get rid” of the inconvenience… And it have wounded me every single time.
I just … I just don’t “feel” it’s right.
Those were lives that could have been full of joy and love… But that’s not what causes me more pain, it’s actually the cold indifference and the lack of struggle I see to take such a drastic measure… It means nothing to them and I guess that’s cool cuz there’s no sadness or repentance, it’s like nothing happened…
So I think I should change my stance on it from “pro choice” to a I strongly support birth control but not abortion.
It’s hard to even think about it. But that’s how I feel 😦
Water colors on notebook page. Inspired by a thought Leny wrote to me few nights ago. Hair filtering what comes out : P
This is one of the center pieces on the body paint I’m working on. It’s a “quetzal”, Guatemalan national bird and Maya sacred bird.
Legend says that during Spain’s invasion to Iximché, the Qui’che fortress city, the brave young prince Tecún Uman was mortally wounded by Spaniard vile general Don Pedro de Alvarado.
When the young prince fell, a beautiful quetzal went to rest over his chest, both died there and since that day, quetzals have their chest painted in bright red. Tainted by the Qui’che Prince’s blood.
this is an aggregate/slideshow post which presents various artistic interpretations of the first expression of the heavenly family. who may be expanding in the future.
from the original prompt, the characters characters:
‘father’ sun: long haired guy. solar rays are strands of hair
single-woman moon: short haired girl, with a light side and a darkside. the light side is still caused by the sun, but the light doesn’t really help her. she brings more diversity and nurturing styles to life through effect on the tide
mother earth: classic mother earth, but in the process of giving birth to life, she is impregnated by sun rather than clouds.
father heaven. cloud guy who toils around the world, sweating and physically nurturing the living offspring
… creation …
when she got pregnant, earth swelled in long gestation of hermaphroditic Turmoil. her pores poured to create and shape new oceans. her mountains swelled with skin twisting and rippling from uncontrollable urges. neither heaven nor sun could placate her insatiable need to mother. Eons past with valleys rising from seas. and mounds and mounts erupting from her depths; the baby-kicks of life.
she gave birth in a conflicting euphoria of pain and ecstasy as the culmination of circumstance inevitability brought her a child. sun, moon, and heaven gathered around to witness and celebrate the new addition, lovingly named “Turmoil” but turmoil wasn’t as pleasant as the family hoped.
the child attacked itself. physically self mutilating, and occasionally engaging in self-cannibalism. it literally began to tear itself apart with frighteningly nonsensical sounds. unlike the former family who found themselves to simply be, this child struggled and fought clenching desperately at the thin thread of sanity- of meaning- it could find. harvesting a bit of it’s mother out remarkable force of will to just continue to be.
one of the first fleshy threads torn from Turmoil, became the plant life. Turmoil tore it from self to try to mitigate individual need for resource harvesting. so it tore a barely mindful sliver of self and spread it around the world. in the tear, Turmoil became far more animal than before, ceding and seeding the basal aspect of life as we know it. which mother has helped birth, support, and raise, ever since- an act of recognition and caring for the aspiration’s of her child.
Turmoil was free from allot of the responsibility of divinity at last. it, through plantlife, created the first worshipers who like worshipers today, need divine guidance and nourishment. worshipers to allow (a) greedy thief to abscond with all the caloric wealth.
but eventually with the introspective circumstance caused by the loneliness. it noticed how selfless- and vile the former selfmutilation was. it tore from itself the wrongs of circumstance, psychopathically othering them into a group where one no longer cared about their suffering. there were conflicting identites and perceptions of self- what one is against what one has done. it couldn’t undo the tearing of plants from self. yet it needed to reconcile one’s similarity to divine kind, while simultaneously acting in petulant and needy manner. with recognition of self as a fraud, the character tore deep into itself, trying once again to separate good from evil- or rather pretense from need. the same tool used in the same method- but expecting different results.
it looked into the wavering calm of a forested lake, a gift from heaven. and recognized itself in the reflection. “maybe if i just take some more, i’m so fat and grizzled”
this time it tore in three:
the herbivores were subconscious beings of fear. they lacked the rigor of the previous trials, the taste for flesh, and any resemblance of higher rational faculties. they were formed from the drops of blood dripping from the now two legged Turmoil.
also Turmoil, in this split, had acquired classical gonads. the male form coming from an uneven tear of skin.
the male retained most of the consciousness of the change and so unlike the female, had more beastial structure. a skull more like that of a crocodile, and the herbivore relatives, than the ‘personal’ female.
still this didn’t fix the internal strife of male turmoil. so he exiled from self the:
scavengers, like herbivores, not befitting his ego,
dietary preferences/wants/needs in conflict within about what to eat/hunt – in the form of different predatory species.
non-necessary wants. exiling the risky and grandiose extravagances, in favor of control.
keeping the best, and most powerful traits for himself. this process was long and painful, and created intense conditioning- soon he forgot about his split gender. in favor of the id’s basal desire to posture and dominate. he forgot that the origin of need of ‘her’ came from need of self to be okay. and that posturing to ‘her’ was just less audible reverberations of the need for cogent integrity.
meanwhile, she wasn’t of less conflict although the struggle was physically less dramatic. she had assumed far greater proportion of self hatred, and with it tied to less tacit traits, and more conflict of perceived equal weight but in opposing directions making the internal disagreements in her mind without finality- without resolution.
so when she similarly tore, much of the tearing was without pattern.
from the conceited love of self came the narcissistic hate of self through frustration towards topical incapacity. “i can’t shine like the sun, love like the moon, care like the earth, or design like the rain; so who/what am i?”
eventually he and she remet. and as one does when they find a complementary form, they were struck first by awe, then love. she was so lovely he didn’t even remember her, and was enchanted by the new character. she had torn herself from earthly form to mysty spirit, a vision and mirage of the former self both sought to reclaim.
but things were not filled with glimmering joy for long. for they only knew how to abuse, how to be predatory. attempting to eliminate weakness and vulnerability as though such fitness was without cost.
he had become beastial terror- Nature himself. while she had become a whispy spirit who had similarly unconsciously honed her capacity to inflict emotional guilt, she had become a banshee culture herself.
because they had been alone for so long, even when previously together and not realizing it, they never learned to care sufficiently for others. so each naturally would exert harm upon the other unintentionally and get surprised when there was recompense.
and so they fight in an eternal ironic conflict:
nature against culture,
desire against pretense,
muscle against emotion
Icariad – based upon the tale of Icarus. until the chain is a rehash of the story with some minor symbolic changes. after that the story is original. i’m curious if people prefer this legend/myth hybrid approach to strict and kinda dry myth.
gather round for a story; one from another culture, who half knew what happened.
There was once a proud mighty king who ruled over an island. He needed a sense of divine legitmacy so he summoned the best archetect to build him a special prison of sorts. A labyrinth turned maze to hold within walls a monster beyond the confrontation of doors. A chimeric creature half-man and half bull, crazed into blood lust the personified hunger of the hold.
However the designers the tyrant called for, many of the greatest in all the lands, refused. so he summoned a craftsman criminal of divine ingenuity to build the maze as a reparation of forgiveness for past and foreign grievances, for the immigrant seeking asylum. The criminal Daedalus, was understanding but reluctant, before seeing the spearman’s point. He was escourted with his son to the king, who sensing the master’s reluctance sweetened the deal promising the wealth of a life as well. So again Daedalus reluctantly accepted, and he built a maze-like labyrinth nearly getting lost on the way out.
Still, the king didn’t pay what Daedalus expected. The king in his craftiness moved the pair to a tower, and ordered the inventor to design and build marvelous contraptions. And to one more creation he did, he built sails so fine that the ship using them would out-sail galleys of a thousand oars. But still there was no release.
The next invention was far more confusing to the king. The inventor asked for all manner of things, and because he needed a bigger room to build, the inventor got bigger and more impressive bed rooms, in which he spread out his baubles and broomsticks and tar barrels and fabic- both pillow sleaves and bolts. He even asked for various animals which only his arcane intellect could see value in their arangement.
At first the king visited in wonder, but as the weeks grew to months he grew less patient. Even the guards were forced out of the natural curiousity you have regarding oddities about your job. One remarked “I opened up the door while he was writing and he spilled his ink all over his work, to which he screamed and threw the lot out the window. And he berated me for not ‘knocking’, screaming about how I had ruined his work. Who knocks for a prisoner though?
‘you are not to pester our guest!’ remarked King minos. And I didn’t even do nothing. I… well I must have deserved it. I didn’t make the same mistake for a long time, but one time I just opened up the door after even knocking and the same thing happened cause ‘he didn’t invite me in.’ the nerve.”
little did anyone know but behind the pretense of genius was genuine cause for mistrust. For the father and son team worked together to make magnificent wings of animal skin, and feather, atached to their arms like birds. Soon they set out freeing themselves from their prison of a tower. Quickly the fledgling boy learned control, and his old man instructed him to stay in the middle- fly too high and the wax would melt, fly too low and the waters would wet the feathers and the weight would cause him to flounder and fall.
But the boy was reckless, and after hours of barely restrained content, he soared with excitement and youthful vigor. And as children will do sometimes he soared too high. His asperations outflying his capacity. And here is wear our story differs. It is said, that he soared too high and so the max melted. Which was part true, but not wholly. He flew up and the wax did start to melt, but more importantly it ignited from the heat. And whereas one could merely dive and the air itself would cool the wax back solid, with flame it stoked the coals of Helios, burning hoter still into a glorious but blazing fall.
It is said that he instantly disappeared into the waves, but that isn’t true either. He splated terminally as only the progeny of gods would survive.
it wasn’t so much that Icarus disappeared, as much as he was disappeared. Icarus was grabed by something below. His father swooped down but only saw scarce feathers. He grabed with his feet one long primary-feather unsinged. he wept. Risking himself before the sallavating waves, for that token, reaching with feet like talons fiercely scraping at the indifferent waves. Slowly, he surveyed where the boy had landed, but he gave up wearily flying to a distant shore to rest.
He flew slow with head held low, mourning his nightmarish loss. It was only after the emotional turmoil and weeks of denial, that he started to project blame. Only then did the murmur of hateful “why didn’t he listen” escape his lips. Months more elapsed before he stoped looking, nearly driven mad by the grief.
he watched me get taken away. The wind left me and so did He. He forfieted me to not displease noble vapors uplifting him to freedom. I was a sacrifice, an offering, for freedom. My cries, from the fledgling loss of lift, and he did nothing. A whispy voice of legend resounded “you flew to high, against instruction. We commend your pride; we commend your price. You now enter Poseidon’s realm, dragged by undertow, (granting what you owe,) now overwhelmed.”
“we sirens grant you the gift of soul, now you can breathe, now you are whole. The rusty aspirations of those above, come from the gluttonous sloth respiration; now movement- dance- is your denouement. Keep moving or you will drown.
And so with soul, he descended, ashen wings radiating soot and glow-fading coals. Down to the dark. He was taken through glowing cities of soft loving coral lights. Echo spoke Prometheus’ eternal words “and I, Prometheus, with but a light, ended mankind’s fear of the nigh-” suddenly cut short, a syllable from fear.
Strange fish fed upon their mates to then be absorbed by said mate. Some had celestial lures before barely hidden maw. Giant ancients gulped schools of fish and creatures emerged and imbedded themselves in the sand and when deeper the silt. The non-planar world was a terrific terror, there was no real meaningful up or down, just the direction the bubbles would float like blown kisses in the wind. And sea stars patiently chased one another on the sunken hull of a ship, finally supplanting themselves on mollusks to inject their stomach and ingest their prey inside out.
The depths were ephemeral and chaotic beyond reasoning lightning bolts cascaded up plumes of soot from a variety of vents while others cricked out like writhing semi-taunt snakes. And eternal light, even sense of the existence of the sky, had gone dark. brooding in passion, seething in darkness.
He entered a dark chamber awash in the same neon lights. A pensive and dimly lit Thinker sat upon a coral throne with a few oddly shaped advisers unkempt and bickering around the room. One of the escorts went to the king to inform him what the stranger was doing in his court.
“who are you?”
“I…” said Icarus
“well Aye; what are you doing here?”
“I… I… I…”
“aye?” the character looks spuriously around him to see if any were challenging his authority by understanding.
“Putre- xibalba- valkrie- isis- iris- capricorn – Ekho”
“Iris? what about her?” the character is visibly getting angry
“why can’t I awaken? Why can’t I cry?”
with the terror one of the members of court speaks up, “he is Icarus, son of Daedalus”. the angry god reached for a nearby three pronged ‘candelabra’ it starts shining with light and surging with electrical currents. “You dare impede the sovereignty of the trident? The will of the seas themselves?” suddenly all the other members of court were pushed against the walls, a torus shaped cyclone pushing all of them away from the upstart, and foreigner alike.
The center of the room was now empty of water, as was the fishy siren, now flopping near helplessly on the floor. With the loss of water, came a return of weight and Icarus keeled over like a dirged ship pouring out the water which had been in his lungs. With a bright flash and the cry “i will not suffer insubordination” a wet ringing gasp reverberated from the well waiting wake.
With the new found orientation, and the lesser pressure, the boy was able to stand again. And he with the angry and well armed ruler of the seas were alone in the eye of the torus, which now had settled like molten rippling glass. The trident shone bright as day nearly blinding to the now accustomed eyes.
“why are you here, Aye?” and so the boy told his tale of the king’s search and later imprisonment of him. He ended humbly with a plea of mercy and servitude
the god laughed, “Aye, you can’t let your grasp out extend your reach. But such is the curse of mortals. I am feeling like a benefactor so I offer my patronage, the patronage of a god. If you accept it you will bear my blessing and carry my marks a lieutenant in my rank and file. But if you wonder about what will happen if you refuse it, then in your heart you already have, and you will be judged appropriately.”
and Icarus was reborn Aye (Αε). He stewed in righteous anger over his real father’s perceived discard, which condensed under the sea’s mighty pressure into hyperbolic hatred from envy- of those beyond his new world. Hated of the worldly truths who forsake him. He was honed with prejudiced favor into a mighty champion in his own right. And quotes of familial hatred resounded deeply. Poseidon ranted “waters will froth white with fury. Barnacles will be swept miles inland, cleft from lazing seadogs to the cliffs of Olympus, my brother deserves what our father received.”
Years passed swimming progressively easily in waters thick with mutiny, and yet soon they swam to insure the shore. In his time of arduous training which would even make Spartans cry, he rose to the rank of general, and would command one of the fronts. He was granted the Athenian shore; home.
Memories flooded back to him as the tide recessed beneath him. He remembered his father watching him get dragged down to drown. He remembered his cousin’s tragic death similarly at the hands of his father; Why he had been sent with father to Minos in the first place. A labyrinth unfinished and a maze to boot. Pretense to favor the prodigal son. Like Poseidon and Hades before him, he was cast from the heavenly family, without even failure to redeem due to a trick of his father and Apollo who mockingly razed my wings; conceitedly feeling his path worth more than my life. Maybe it was justice in his eyes for my father’s deeds. “Too coward to kill me but culpable to help me die, what a feeble god.”
he entered a hovel on the countryside above the city, and there was an old man. The old man began crying.
“what is it? Why do you cry but not flea? fool”
“you remind me of a son I lost at sea. When I realized he was in the water I went to check, but I couldn’t see him. The waters were so dark I had no idea where he was. I looked along the surface cause he could swim but I didn’t find him.”
“LIAR, you watched me struggle and sink.” and with his blade he impaled his frail father.
bleeding out the old man coughed “i carried home of you, what I could” and the old man lifted up a single feather necklace.
Chimera and phoenix and whisps, few are all and none are even one. It is because as you become more of one extreme you also become more of others, because there is overlay of the various paradigms. To be more than one you have to comprimize and rationalize a break of integrity for further pursuit of your bias.
To be the most empowered chimera, you must be able to get phoenix to support you through compelling ideals, and you must have comparable understand of nature to get the whisps behind you. So to further self empower, you must compromise the outward tacit expression of greed for values of the other demographics. Similarly to truly empower yourself as a whisp you have to have a protected place in society indulging traditional platitudes you find meritless and irrelevant or against your practice at face value, because without huge group investment you are the limit to your idea’s expression. As for phoenix, without the empowerment of having competitive capacity for technical skills, or the drive for power, the zeal and passion doesn’t really matter.
The fact of the matter though rarely used is that chimera my their adaptive bias tend to be personally/individually stronger and more capable than the individuals of other groups, however what the other groups lack by having scruples and ideals, they make up with their multitude. A flock of phoenix, or a technologically empowered whisp, is more powerful than chimera.
And that is the irony of personal empowerment, by focusing on immediate self-gratification and schisming oneself from one’s group by neglecting to share labours, one denigrates their character and can cause the group to lash out or scapegoat the individual through hyperbolic rhetoric a pretence of vindication to validate the virtue and veracity of ‘vengeance’ really grounded in envy/hate of not-self and the brutal groups are less often willing to do such acts to their own.
You are not truly in control of your meaning. You exist in a society which will project meanings upon you and these meanings will caricature your humanity to a grotesque and deformed sense of self you will likely be ashamed of, however even though you can’t control how people perceive you can control what they perceive. You can grant personal association with caricatures they appreciate or are biased to associate with.
so how do we reconcile? Through the grace and balance and recognition of what you present beyond who you are. Which paradigm is most like you? Are you most like the whisps who base things on objective reality, or do you prefer allegations and anecdote, or due to prefer to have basal idolatry of idealism? (whisp, chimera, phoenix respectively).
Now from those values you hold as paramount, find value in the other ones. If you are:
whisp perhaps find
chimera as competitive implements of utility.
phoenix as nobly holding to things of truth though naïve and deluded about which things are accurate and worth knowing.
chimera perhaps find
whisp as a means to power through technical compensation. “mind over matter is an appeal to magic. Matter over mind bludgeons in comprehension”
Phoenix as a means to power though social compensation. “if you want it done right do it yourself, if you want lots of work done, train others.”
phoenix perhaps find
whisp as people who hold an ideal of that which is, astrology of evidence
chimera as proud heros, living legends. People who are foolhardy in ambition but still of noble ideals. Those who strive to make themselves into an ideal, as opposed to protect the ideal.
how ever you find the groups irrationally, find a way to rationally appreciate all of them, and internalize how they think to rise beyond their ability to be able to disempower, and counter their criticism with similar reasoning for the humor of it. However, Don’t expect to convert people you ridicule or criticise though. Telling people answers in the context of conversation tends to lead them to a defensive and stubborn position called ‘argument’ and many things which are critical of that ‘axiom’ will be considered strawmen, as it doesn’t line up with their emotional sense of self. And if your criticism does personally resonate it comes across as ad hominem.
Ask them to figure out their circumstance in their own words, by respectfully/kindly using analogy and by offering questions which make them venture shared values. It isn’t the con-artist/car-salesmen style of trying to make people just say “yes” a bunch to condition them agreeable and then to change the topic, but rather to ply their critical thinking towards the weak parts of their paradigm through critical analysis of a pseudonym ideology. They wont necessarily change while chatting with you but it will plant seeds of integrity. And they may change in response to your aid, just when they don’t remotely consider the change to be a loss of face/esteem. To increase the likelihood of them coming out as changed it can’t seem to be a topic of importance; if you let a topic seem to define a person you interact with, the person will pick up on it. If it is just a topic that naturally comes into conversation, especially about 3rd party groups, the speaker/respondent will be more honest and speak in earnest. And if the person doesn’t consider you an enemy, they will be more open to your consideration. Which is why it is best to not raise standards of dogma or ideal or association or group membership. And both first and second person statements/queries raise those defences. So avoid testimony of “i am a-” or accusatory “are you a-”, these are ‘benediction’ of prejudice.
you will be able to understand the mechanisms at play if you do this impartial analysis, of therapeutically allowing others to talk through their problems vicariously. And if you understand the mechanistic manner in which others consider you will learn the loss and follies of your own bias until you can understand the other persons natively/fluently; as though their bias was your own.
I am hell, I’m not the others, the others are hell too, I am fully aware how much hell lays within everything around me, everything burns me, my skin has grown so fragile, I hurt and burn in intolerance and vindictive thoughts at all moment. I am hell but I’m unable to find the fire that is consuming me, I’m unable to see it is rooted in me.
I’m the burning offspring of the stupid. blinded, conformist, jealous and unevolved phoenix. I despite my cast and their beliefs, I’m not like them, they are hell. You’re special, handcrafted by god himself, you’re made at his very own image, so I am GOD, i don’t need them, i don’t need their god, I am GOD and I am HELL. I am the future of evolution, what humans are meant to become.
I am unique and special, above of all cuz one thing those stupid phoenix were right about, I am better than everyone around me, they told me all the time how special and unique I was, and that’s the one truth they had to share. But I am hell and the world rejects me because I am the only one right, they’re all wrong and get blinded by envy and ignorance, they can’t see I am better, they can’t see they are hell.
I am hell.
Original ink and chracoal on regular paper
Prompt here https://inkfell.wordpress.com/2013/08/02/strife/
a woman will bring you down
so envious of your power
and no real power of her own
the chair was nice
the food was good
and the bed, it was wonderful
but just right was becoming those who would destroy me
and she said “don’t disturb my beauty sleep ever again.”
I’ve been barking snarling growling
snapping at the tails of others
I’ve been feeding off the scraps they left behind
and begging for more
maybe I’ve been whimpering
and scratching at the door
but now I’m dog with sharper teeth
What big eyes
“Why?” He asked
“The better to see me with”
She saw herself in his eye
“Oh, you know a woman can only see herself as reflected in the eyes of her man”
and his eyes were big
“I wanted to remember my beauty.”